Midnight Conversation
by AntebellumHope
Summary: Post-Good Genes. He lashed out at her, catching her with nails like claws and ripping chunks of flesh away.  She screamed, only angering him further as he sought to flee.  Blood ran in rivulets down her legs, staining the hems, and he could smell it.


**Author's Note: **Just a little fluffy blurb-turned-one-shot that came to me late one night. I've honestly never been a big fan of the April/Don pairing. I see it as being a one sided thing that he is working through, and in that mindset, I wrote this. I'm going to break his heart one day, I know it. :/

Please comment/review!

* * *

She flicked out the light and waited impatiently for the night to wrap her in its arms. Cloaked in the darkness, she felt her way to the bed and listened to it squeak as she climbed under the sheets. Though completely alert, she shut her eyes and let her other senses take in the room and the stillness of the apartment. The summer had been a rough one, unbearably hot and dry, and as many times as she tinkered with or kicked the old unit, it simply couldn't take the oppressive temperature and died the very day the heat index went well over 100ºF. The lack of a/c left the atmosphere thick and stagnant. The window above the sink was open, allowing the night wind to whistle past the heavy iron bars across it. The acrid scent of smoke clogged her nostrils, and she retched a little, feeling dinner rising then falling again in the back of her throat. Loose fibers in the sheets tickled her bare legs before deciding to stick to her moist skin.

Though her hair was up, and all she wore was an oversized t-shirt, perspiration was beading on her forehead and neck. She kicked the sheets and blanket into a pile at the foot of the bed. It didn't help much. With every passing minute, she felt herself become more and more stuck to the bed, and, finally relinquishing the idea of sleep, she rose. An alabaster shadow looked at her in the mirror as she passed, critically regarding the tousled mop of red hair and the line of pinprick-sized freckles flecked across her cheeks, taking in the curvature of her breasts and the near-perfect angle of her hips before noting the scarring on her thigh and ceasing the examination.

Irritably striding into the kitchen, she opened the freezer and stuck her head inside, calming herself with the icy blast. She reached for an ice cube. As she popped it in her mouth and turned to the island, she let her gaze roam over the elegantly sparse living area. She liked the simplicity. The couch was well worn and slightly caved in the middle from years of use, first in her parents' place, then hers. The coffee table was newer, but time had likewise taken a toll on the ring-stained furnishing. Moonlight reflected off ebony wood and cast beastly shadows on the walls. She kept her eyes on the counter, unable to face the smiles and taunts being thrown at her from the dark.

A numb pain rested in her throat, and she coughed as the half solid ice slid past her airway. Arms sprawled over the countertop, she lay her head on cool tile and sighed. A sudden stinging brought her hand to her face. Surprised at the moisture collected on her fingertips, she hastily wiped her eyes with the collar of the grey shirt before more could spill over. It had been like this for weeks. Short days spent in denial, long nights spent in grief. The boundaries of time were blurring, running together like a fog so that all she knew was what was consuming her.

She stiffened as a shrill chirping issued from the vicinity of her room. Her phone. Scrambling to answer, she tripped over the rug and nearly fell headlong into the door. Her hands were shaking so badly that she was surprised at the ease with which she answered.

"He-hello?"

"Hey. I'm not waking you up, am I?" The voice on the end was pinched, as though he only just realized how late it was. She smiled and shook her head, only remembering he couldn't see her when he continued. "Look, I'm sorry. I should have just called tomorrow. I'll-"

"No, no!" She protested. "I...I was up anyway."

"Are you sure? You sound tired."

"No, I'm good." She forced that chipper note into her voice a little too hard and cringed, knowing he would notice. "So what have you been up to? More midnight brainstorming?"

"Yeah, a little. No earth-shattering revelations though." His answer was distracted, and he paused as though sizing her up. Swallowing, she inwardly cursed his intuition. "What's up on your end?"

She saw right through his screen. He was trying to bait her, casually draw out whatever was bothering her. And though she desperately wished to, she just couldn't share. She caught herself lightly saying something about life being alright aside from the broken a/c and immediately wanted to erase that part of the conversation.

"I can come over, if you want, tinker with it. Maybe you'll sleep a little more comfortably..."

She pinched the bridge of her nose, trapped. If she said no, he'd likely show up anyway, demanding a full explanation. "Um...yeah, sure. I mean, if you don't mind. I'll make some coffee or something."

"Mmkay, see you in a bit."

She stared at the device in her hand for a full five minutes after the line went dead. Regaining what composure was left, she shuffled back into the kitchen, mechanically setting the coffee to brew and dreading the rest of the night to come.

* * *

The full moon was resplendent, bathing the area in a silver gleam, and giving his skin an unusually dark tint. He noted with some mounting concern that a window had been left open. From his vantage point high on the dark roof in the alley, he could see the little curtain flailing wildly in the wind. All of the lights were off. He ducked his head and scanned the rooftops one last time before alighting on the railing of the staircase on the alley side of the building. Peeking inside, he saw rapid flashes of technicolor lights on the wall. She must have had the TV on mute. He tapped three times on the bars and waited, the hollow reverberations rattling the silence of the night.

Slowly, she rounded the corner, and it was all he could do to reign in the anxiety. 'Tired' did not even begin to cover the beaten down woman before him. She looked rough. The smile she offered him as she let him in didn't quite reach her eyes, which were red rimmed and swollen. Dark circles were collecting underneath them, and he couldn't help but notice the supple curve of her lips had chapped and was splitting with each movement.

He opened his arms, welcoming her in. She paused, unsure at first. His gaze burned into her, pleading with her to reach out to him. A step. Two steps. He folded his arms around her, relishing her scent and the way her hair fell on his shoulders. Rubbing his hand up and down her back, he sought to take some of the tension. She stiffened at the initial contact but gradually relaxed into the safety of the caress.

The smell of the coffee wafted around them, and the maker released a series of bleeps announcing that it had done its job. As she broke away, he let his eyes drink her in. The jumble of hair had fallen down, red wisps feathering over her porcelain face. The t-shirt was loose and ill-fitting but did nothing to detract from the athletic form beneath it. The neckband came down in a swoop, revealing perfectly set collar bones that framed her graceful neck and shoulders. Folds of fabric clung to a plump bust line before dropping at a sheer angle and ending just below the pliant curve of her hips, revealing long, slender legs. The clinking of the mugs on the counter snapped his gaze up to her eyes, which let him know that he had been caught. He blushed at the bemused smile playing with her lips, happy that, at least, she didn't look as sad.

Even worn down, she still managed to take his breath away as she floated rather than walked around the kitchen. Muted footfalls on the cold kitchen floor told him more than she had. Normally taking quick confident steps, even in the most mundane of tasks, she now tread so carefully that he thought to wonder if the floor was made of coals. The mist rising off of the brew she set in front of her clung to her hair like a cobweb. It bothered him and before he realized what he had done, he had tucked the loose hair behind her ears and tilted her chin up, forcing those green gems to look up at him. His breath caught at the natural beauty there, and he dizzily forced his focus on her words.

"You forgot your tool bag."

He grinned sheepishly, not trusting himself to speak. Her fingers came up to his and gently pried them away from her face, as if to apologize for their movements. The awkward stretch between them lasted until their mugs were forgotten, the coffee lukewarm.

* * *

She watched as he pushed aside his coffee and intently scanned her face. Holding her breath, she waited for the interrogation to begin. But all he did was sigh and slip off of the bar stool. Rummaging through the junk drawer under the sink, he made a satisfied noise as he found a wrench and a screwdriver. He looked over his shoulder to make sure she was following. Unable to read his expression in the dim night light, she merely nodded that she was coming. His footfalls were light. The stairs merely trembled under his weight before deciding that the lithe limbs upon them could pass without alarm.

He knelt in front of the a/c. As he worked he talked. "So how long has this thing been bothering you?"

The question threw her, and she stood dumbly blinking at him.

He caught the unease in her stance and gently clarified, "The unit. How long has the unit been bothering you?" He narrow his eyes to slits even as he kept his tone light. She knew he was searching for what it was he said.

"Um, since summer began, really." She shivered, suddenly aware of the damp that had seeped in with the early morning.

The old unit grudgingly rumbled back into existence. It rattled and roared before being silenced with a swift kick. He stood stiffly. "And how long has whatever you won't tell me been eating at you?"

She couldn't look at him. She physically couldn't look at him. Knowing that she would see him in the throes of illness, crying out in pain and fear as he writhed on her couch, she kept her gaze on her toes. Her arms fell to her sides and brushed the healed scarring.

_He lashed out at her, catching her with nails like claws and ripping chunks of flesh away. She screamed, only angering him further as he sought to flee. Blood ran in rivulets down her legs, staining the hems, and he could smell it. Plunging through the door and leaving it in ruins, he clamored down the staircase. Escape. Seeking escape in the dark. Seeking safety. _

Blinking, she realized that the world was shaking unevenly. Calloused hands rocked her back and forth. The fingers she had bitten down on in an attempt to choke back her sobs stung. Blood dribbled down her palm.

"….lost...you...I-I thought…" Incoherent sentences spewed from her mouth, and her keening reached its pinnacle when she saw the distraught look in his eyes. He knew. Without her saying, he knew.

He had always been that way, able to read her as easily as an open book. Looking close to tears himself now, he shushed and cooed her until the weeping became a subdued whimper. She nuzzled closer to the nape of his neck, feeling him still beneath her touch. It may have been her imagination, but there might have been a soft pressure on her hair, and it flooded her with warmth and comfort.

Suddenly very aware of herself, she pulled away, face red with embarrassment. He looked up at her and smiled. She smiled back and sniffled.

_I love you, my friend._

The light in his eyes showed her more than he could ever say, and for that she was grateful. Words could be so troublesome like that. He patted her back and gave the unit one last glower before taking her hand and leading her back upstairs. Sometimes, shed tears and late night coffee were the best medicine.


End file.
